


let's hang out sometime

by escapismandsharpobjects



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: AND!!!!, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Waking up Restrained, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/pseuds/escapismandsharpobjects
Summary: whumptober day 1 - prompt: waking up restrained. malcolm and jt hang out and malcolm has a night terror. jt comforts him as best as he can.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	let's hang out sometime

**Author's Note:**

> heyo!! welcome to my first fic for this year's whumptober!! it's not as whumpy as some of my other fics this month will be but as soon as i saw the prompt i Knew what i was going to write lol. hope you enjoy!!

He’s doing pretty well, all things considered, Malcolm thinks. Ignoring the fact that his sister had killed a man, of course. Which is kind of a hard thing to ignore, but he’s trying. Anyway, he’s doing a fairly good job of being okay. Take tonight, for example: it’s just him and JT, hanging out at his loft, having some drinks and watching a football game which, Malcolm has to admit, is completely boring and pointless, but also kind of fun. He’s having fun. Hanging out with a friend from work  _ outside of work. _ He’s doing  _ great. _

It’s a couple hours after the game has ended when JT yawns and checks his watch. “It’s getting kinda late,” he remarks, but makes no move to get up. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm agrees, also not feeling like moving. “Do you need to get home?”

JT shrugs. “I don’t have to,” he says, “but I’m about fifteen minutes away from passing out on your couch.”

Malcolm shrugs back. “We could have a sleepover,” he grins. He’s never really had a sleepover before.  _ Do adults even have sleepovers? _ he wonders belatedly. 

JT rolls his eyes, but returns Malcolm’s smile. “We could,” he agrees, lying down experimentally on the couch. “This is actually really nice,” he says, face half buried in the cushion. “I could fall asleep real easy.”

Malcolm nods. “Okay, then. Sleepover.”

The remainder of their night is spent talking - JT goes on for a bit about Tally and their baby, both of whom are visiting her parents for the weekend, and Malcolm looks through the photos of the child on JT’s phone for what must be the hundredth time. 

True to his word, about fifteen minutes into the conversation, JT falls asleep. Just like that. Malcolm stares at him a second, faintly amazed that someone could fall asleep so quickly, before he gets up, tosses a blanket over his friend, turns off the TV and lights, and heads to his own bed.

He locks himself up, being careful not to make too much noise with the restraints, lest he wake JT up. That done, he sinks backwards into his pillow and closes his eyes. And, surprisingly, falls right asleep.

\--

_ Blood. There is blood everywhere, dripping down the walls, down his face, onto the floor, puddling like rain around his feet. Across from him, blood drips down Ainsley’s face, puddles around her feet. She smiles, and there is blood on her teeth. Blood on her teeth and a knife in her hand and Nicholas Endicott’s dead body at her feet, bloody, bloody, bloody. He tries to breathe, just breathe, but the metallic scent of blood fills his nostrils and he chokes, and Ainsley jumps back, startled, and then she is changing, and now it is Martin Whitly standing in front of him, blood on his teeth and a knife in his hand and Ainsley’s dead body at his feet. “Malcolm, my boy,” he says, and the words echo around the room, building in volume until nothing else surrounds him but the voice of his father, or the voice of Ainsley, or maybe his own voice, and he screams but cannot hear himself over the noise, and he screams again, and again, and- _

And jolts awake, hands frantically flying up to cover his ears against the cacophony in his head. They are stopped, of course, by the restraints around them, and he frantically tugs at them. _ “Make it stop, make it stop…” _ he mumbles, pulling desperately at the chains. 

It stops. The restraints come off of his wrists, and his hands fly to cover his ears, and it is over. 

He comes back to his senses slowly. His breathing starts to even out. The noise in his ears and in his head subsides, leaving only a residual pounding. He can feel his hands shaking. And something else, something nice, something comforting...a hand on his back, large and warm and steady. Finally, he opens his eyes and looks around. 

“You back with me?” JT asks, and for a moment Malcolm panics -  _ why is JT here? Where is he? He has to be at home...or is he at work?  _

Clearly, JT senses what’s wrong. “We’re having a sleepover, remember?” he says, reaching out to turn on the light. “You’re home, you’re safe.”

Malcolm nods. He remembers now. “I’m home. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” JT agrees. “You good?”

“Not really,” Malcolm admits, curling his shaking hands into fists around the bedspread. And then, he adds, “I was dreaming about Ainsley, and Endicott, and my father. There was a lot of blood.”

He’d never normally tell JT about this, but something, maybe the spirit of sharing secrets at a sleepover, prompts him to talk. “I keep trying to stop thinking about all of it...move on, you know? What’s done is done, and all. But my subconscious won’t let me.”

JT nods, not exactly sure of what he can say - it’s not like he knows what it feels like  _ (does anyone besides Malcolm know what this feels like? _ he wonders). It’s not like he and Malcolm are best friends, like they share this kind of thing all the time.

“That sucks,” is the response he settles on. 

Malcolm laughs, the kind of laugh that’s half a sob, and sniffs. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It does.”

They sit in silence for a minute, Malcolm’s hands loosening around the bedspread, angry red marks from pulling against the restraints beginning to show up on his skin. JT perches awkwardly on the edge of the bed, one hand still on Malcolm’s back, not moving, like he’s unsure of what to do with it. 

Finally, though, JT moves. He’s not sure what prompts him to do it, but all of a sudden his arms are wrapped loosely around Malcolm, who tenses up at first but quickly relaxes into the hug, leaning into JT’s arms. 

“I got you,” JT says quietly, and Malcolm shudders. “You’re gonna be alright.”

And then Malcolm is crying - not hard, not loud. Just crying, warm tears which roll down his face and land on JT’s shoulder. If JT notices, he doesn’t comment. He just keeps holding on, until eventually, Malcolm pulls away, turning his face down. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sure for what, exactly, he is apologizing. Waking JT up? Dumping all of his personal problems on him? Crying? All of the above?

“Hey,” JT says, and doesn’t continue until Malcolm glances up at him. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, man. You’ve been through some shit.”

And, well, Malcolm can’t argue with that. “I have,” he affirms. They’re both quiet for a second, and then he continues. “Thank you. For...being here, and everything.”

“Of course,” JT says, and he really means it. “You alright if I head back out to the couch now?”

“Yeah,” Malcolm replies. “Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

He won’t be alright, not really. Not yet, and maybe not ever. But when JT goes back to the couch? Malcolm falls back asleep, and remains that way until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!!! please feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
